An Ignoble Invitation- the Aelven Dominion

by Dani Morrison

  The female sneered, her ethereal beauty marred by the expression, “You cannot honestly think he means to keep you.” Her scorn-filled laugh ricocheted around Miri’s ears, playing her simmering insecurities like a harp, “He will secure whatever alliances are necessary and send you away before his seed has cooled in your womb.”

  Miri’s mouth fell open and her mind went blank. The statement, however crude, bore too close a similarity to the reality of her situation. She was just a body and would mean nothing to Aisalan once the negotiations were completed. The Aelven female’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as her friend whispered something in her ear.

  “I would enjoy the luxuries he affords you while you can.”

  Miri and Lyrei watched in silence as both females turned and left, giggling behind their fans and casting glances over their shoulders. Miri almost jumped when Lyrei’s hand softly touched her arm. “Are you alright? You handled that remarkably well.”

  Miri shook her head, “I was expecting something like this to happen at some point but...”

  “Nothing prepares you for it.” Lyrei said sadly, “I am sorry. It is almost midday, and we should probably head back.”

  Miri’s mood didn’t improve as they walked back to the palace. By allowing the Aelven female’s words to affect her, she was giving her exactly what she wanted. If Lyrei’s assumption was correct and they were from lesser nobility, it probably rankled them to see an eligible male parade around a low-born human woman for the world to see. Bringing her down a peg was their aim, and Lyrei’s defense, she felt sufficiently humbled.

  “Shall we...” Miri began hesitantly. “I want to make it through this arrangement with as little fuss as possible.” She was not naive enough to think she would not have an encounter with the odd insulting Aelv or human, but the raw sting of the confrontation was too raw to share.

  If Lyrei found her desire to keep the encounter between them strange, she did not say. She simply nodded and retook Miri’s arm.

  Aisalan

  Something was bothering her, but she was refusing to divulge whatever caused the discomfort. He watched her pick at her plate. She was fond of Halnar, a puff pastry stuffed with wild hare that was served to them by the Sisters of Elias, and he had hoped having the dish prepared for her again would put her in good spirits.

  Instead, she was distant and replied to his questions with short one or two-word answers that did little to fill him in on what had occurred while they were separated.

  For now, they sat in silence, save the light scrape of the two tines of her fork against the plate.

  “If you do not tell me what is wrong, I cannot fix it.” He said, attempting to keep his patience in check. The bulk of his frustration had nothing to do with Miri, but he could not help his selfish demands of her buoyant spirit.

  She dropped the fork to the table with a huff, “All problems can’t be solved with a bit of coin, Aisalan.”

  His jaw tightened. “You misunderstand me. If someone has acted out of turn, it is incumbent upon me to correct them.”

  Her silence spoke volumes. If she was not willing to tell him herself, he would endeavor to find out from Lyrei, and he sincerely hoped she would not force him to attempt a bluff, he was already faring poorly at that particular skill.

  He was sure to introduce himself to the Progenitor of the stronghold, Ulther Otravian, only to discover the man was far more forward, and hostile, than he anticipated.

  “Aisalan Vinhar.” Ulther said, not waiting for his Aelven counterpart to reply, “I trust you will look favorably upon our requests for cooperation.”

  That this was spoken so brazenly in front of other courtiers did not bode well. To speak in such certainties implied the minds of the Otravian court were already stubbornly fixed. Aisalan could feel Ulther’s courtiers’ eyes upon him as he sought the right words. The wrong response could lead to a breakdown in negotiations before they even began.

  He bowed, a sign of deference not owed to the human male in front of him, “I trust we will come to an understanding before the summit is complete.”

  It was the best he could do. Neither confirm nor deny when, in actuality, Aisalan had no intention of supporting all of their demands. The older man was not satisfied by his response. His green eyes hardened, and his mouth turned down for a fraction of a moment before his face smoothed. A sharp nod was his only response and Aisalan was instantly dismissed.

  He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Miri rising from the table, and he watched her walk to the window to stare down into the still busy streets. He ached for more than just her words and laughter. Despite having his guard on standby and other Aelven on the grounds, he felt surrounded. The stone walls of the palace were like an extravagant cage where enemies in shadows waited for him to falter.

  Miri’s sighs, the softness of her skin, all of it would soothe him far better than any expensive bottle of Qist.

  “Do you think the supan might lift your spirits?” He asked, rising to his feet.

  “It may.” Miri said before turning to face him, “Though I have never seen one.”

  He was struck by the reminder of just how different their worlds were. Attending the supan had been a staple of his childhood, though, in his youth, he found the performances dull. A combination of song, dance, and spoken word, the live storytelling could be compelling if the playwright was talented.

  Unfortunately, a name could get one further than actual talent among the upper echelons of Aelven society and he didn’t trust humans to have much better taste. He was not optimistic.

  He approached her cautiously as though she were a wisp that would disappear were he to move too suddenly. His fingers tingled as he tucked a flyaway curl behind her ear only for it to disobey and drop back into its prior position.

  “Then it will be a pleasant surprise for you.” He smirked, “Hopefully. I have never been fond of them.”

  She cocked her head to the side and smiled, “Why are we going then?”

  “For appearances.” Aisalan began, brushing another curl away from the soft skin of her collarbone. “And for your amusement.”

  Her expression subtly shifted and he desperately sought to catch each emotion that flickered through her amber gaze. He gently cupped her shoulder as his other hand smoothed her hair away from her face again and cupped her jaw. The plump pillows of her lips beckoned him and his mouth went dry when she allowed him to continue.

  She froze for a brief moment when their lips connected, then softened, allowing his tentative exploration of her mouth. He was almost ashamed. Like a short-eared youth he groaned at her acceptance and pulled her even tighter against him.

  His fingers wandered to the back of her head, capturing a fist full of her hair and reveling in the soft feel of it. Voluminous and heavy, it clung to his digits the way he clung to her curvaceous form in the privacy of their rooms.

  Aisalan pulled back and was pleased to see a faint blush across the tops of her cheeks.

  That he would have to leave her to make another round of pandering to officials and courtiers filled him with irritation. “I regret that I must leave you again.”

  Miri nodded and attempted to step back but, he subtly tightened his grasp, halting her retreat. “And perhaps tonight I can alleviate your melancholy.”

  A flash of an emotion he could not decipher creased her brow, and his eyes followed the sweep of her tongue across her bottom lip.

  She was looking out of the window when he left the room, and he made a mental note to speak with Lyrei before he returned to his duties. His mind cycled through the various scenarios Miri may have encountered as his feet carried him to the back halls and, finally, the servant quarters.

  Lyrei was not forthcoming.

  “Need I remind you of your obligations to my family?” Aisalan said, irritation lacing his tone.

  “And need I remind you that my obligations now include service to your intended?” She replied, cocking her hip to the side and crossing h
er arms.

  It was a fair play on her part. To deny the falsehood in a room full of servants was imprudent, and his attempts at intimidation were half-hearted at best. Her jaw stubbornly set, Lyrei had no intention of betraying Miri’s confidence. He would need to exercise a virtue he considered a nuisance on the best of days; patience.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miri

  Miri could understand why they called the theater the House of Gold. Every surface collected lamplight and diffused it back in warm honeyed tones, casting the atrium in a celestial glow. If her mood hadn’t already improved somewhat with time, admiring the splendor of the playhouse nudged her the rest of the way.

  “It is like a garish representation of the afterlife,” Aisalan grumbled. Miri chuckled and shook her head, her eyes widening when they approached a grand marble staircase.

  “Where are we going?” She asked, “Everyone is going through there.” She slowed and pointed toward a set of massive doors left open to allow the free flow of the theaters’ patrons.

  “The boxes are located on the second floor.”

  His hand slipped down to wrap around hers and she briefly looked down at where their fingers connected. It was as intimate a touch as others they had shared but had occurred so seamlessly she could almost believe there was more to this bit of creative fiction they were weaving.

  Whatever assumptions Miri had about what a box seat could be like paled in comparison to reality. From their vantage point, she could see the entire stage and the milling crowd making their way to their seats or conversing with other theatergoers.

  “Taris is here?” She leaned over further, hoping to catch a glimpse of the affable Aelv before the show began.

  “He is.” Aisalan said, “Though I do not know where.”

  “Oh.” She was disappointed to have missed him. After her encounter with the Aelven females, his good humor was even more welcome.

  “You seem to have taken a liking to him,” Aisalan said from behind her, and Miri turned to find him studying her, his mouth set in a thin line.

  Miri smiled, “Is that jealousy I hear Lord Vinhar?”

  Granted, she found Taris attractive, but she doubted that was an unreasonable response to his appearance. Many Aelven men were eye-catching. But, she didn’t feel any sexual attraction towards the other Aelv. He was amiable enough but nothing about him stirred her.

  That Aisalan seemed to be nursing jealousy regarding her positive feelings toward his friend was as surprising as it was adorable.

  He pulled her closer and buried his nose in her hair. “I am averse to sharing your attention.”

  “Anyone can see us.” Miri replied with a nervous laugh. To suit their ruse his actions were more than appropriate but each touch threatened to drown her in the giddy curiosity and anticipation she had come to associate with these close encounters. There was little reason for his treacherous fingers to dance across the small of her back now unless he was attempting to seduce her and there was little reason for her to allow it unless she desired his touch.

  “No one can see us.” He pressed his lips to hers, a gentle request for permission that deepened when she parted them.

  Miri may not have had much experience with kissing, but she couldn’t deny that she approved of his technique. His touches always began as exploratory and tentative, giving her space to pull away or stop when she wished but the ambient glow of the box’s lamps set an atmosphere ripe for the illicit and she allowed herself to be pulled under the current.

  The lights dimmed, and Aisalan released her enough to rest his forehead against hers. “We should take our seats.”

  She could feel her effect on him through the thin silk of her gown, and the realization raised goosebumps across her skin.

  He interlaced their fingers and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles. Unbidden, the lewd comments from earlier in the day came flooding back, and she found herself studying his profile. The Aelven female’s words, through cruel, held merit. Regardless of her growing attraction, and his persistence, there was no denying their reality.

  This could never be anything more than a mirage.

  Aisalan

  The supan was as terrible. He wouldn’t have taken Miri for someone to enjoy the over-dramatic flourishes and contrived star-crossed lovers story lines often found in the art form, but her gasps of surprise and laughter turned out to be far more enjoyable than the performance itself.

  “You’re not moved by his song?” He asked, leaning to whisper into her ear. The male protagonist, desperate for a single touch from the female lead, begged in plaintive tenor for a single kiss. The scene was meant to invoke feelings of sympathy and longing. Instead, Miri sat bemused, her hand covering the small smile on her lips.

  “It’s no wonder she rejects his advances.” Her eyes cut to him, “All he can seem to talk about is his sexual prowess.”

  Aisalan chuckled and wrapped one of her curls around his finger, “Perhaps, he simply wishes to assure her of his abilities.”

  He got the distinct sense the conversation was no longer just about the play.

  Miri tapped a finger against her chin, “People who are masters of their craft generally don’t boast.”

  “So, you think he’s overcompensating?” Aisalan asked, his gaze trailing from her face to the red silk of her dress. The gown was meant to mimic the petals of a Phoenix Lily, the delicate fabric sewn into delicate layers that spilled over her hips and over the shapely legs he longed to wrap around his waist.

  He was surprised when she turned to him, a hint of mischief in her eye, “Yes. I think she’ll be very disappointed when she relents.”

  The air crackled between them. A ‘when’ not an ‘if’. To thought of her feeling the same pull between that he did caused his blood to sing in his veins.

  He pressed his lips to her ear, “Perhaps a demonstration is in order?”

  “Aisalan!” Miri gasped, pulling back from him, “We’re in public.”

  She let out a light squeak when he pulled her from her seat and into his lap. He silently thanked Lyrei for not choosing one of the more intricate gowns for the evening since the slinky silk easily slid up her legs with his hand. With her back pressed to his chest, he had access to the soft body underneath, and the madness that overtook him seemed to demand he finally satiate their desire.

  “Shh.” He whispered, “We cannot be seen, but we can be heard.”

  Even Taris would never be so brazen. But, her scent, the sound of her voice, the tiny hitch in her breath as his fingers trailed over her knees caused his sense of propriety to fall to the wayside.

  She trembled. Whether from the slight chill of having her legs exposed or the feel of his lips against her ear he could not tell, but her taut, supple, flesh yielding to his fingers as they journeyed up her thighs was enough to bring him to attention almost immediately. She released a shaky breath when one of his hands skimmed her breast, lingering over her nipple long enough to cause it to stiffen under the fabric.

  His other hand finally reached the warm cradle of her sex, and he bit back a moan at discovering her already slick with want. Perhaps she had been dancing on this knife’s edge as long as he had. Her breaths grew ragged, and he couldn’t resist the urge to plunder the sweet honey of her mouth, swallowing her moan as his fingers finally parted her drenched petals and glanced over her clitoris.

  “Are you disappointed yet, dhaoiri?” Aisalan whispered against her lips, swirling his finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

  A soft cry escaped her, and the hand that cupped her breast moved up to her mouth, gently covering it as his fingers continued their delicate assault. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to grind himself against her as her thighs clenched around his hand. She tensed, and her small fingers flew to his wrist, her nails digging into his skin.

  The supan was all forgotten, but this foray into foreplay wasn’t nearly enough. His member strained against his trousers, and it was a struggle to maintain control
with her hips rocking against his fingers. Capturing her lips again, he slid one finger lower still and teased her entrance before gently sliding the tip into her. She stiffened, and Aisalan was thankful for the rising swell of the orchestra since it covered the fevered whine that accompanied her climax.

  The tell-tale clench and release continued for a few moments before Miri finally slumped against him, her breaths ragged and eyes completely glazed over in post-orgasmic bliss. He withdrew his fingers and maintained eye contact as he brought the soaked digits to his lips. Her taste clung to his tongue, and a war raged within him to sink into her in that very moment; to complete the act they danced around since the moment she sat across from him in that dingy bar in The Hidden.

  She remained still for a few moments, her eyes containing a mixture of bewilderment and arousal. The lamp lights began to brighten, signaling an intermission, and he rose, helping her to her feet and smoothing her dress back into some semblance of decency.

  Even with the gown returned to its prior state she appeared ravished, her lips plump and wet, a faint blush spread across her nose and curls in slight disarray.

  The sight alone made Aisalan wish he could cut the evening short and draw those sweet sounds out of her without fear of being overheard.

  Miri

  The bright light of the atrium greeted them and Miri couldn’t help feeling decidedly wicked. Kyra would ask what had gotten into her, and she would be hard-pressed to come up with a justification, but a pleasant buzz hummed under her skin and she loathed to tear it apart just yet.

  She had plenty of time to examine the whys when everything was said and done. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the atrium, and she wondered how Aisalan managed to appear completely un-phased. As if he hadn’t just had his fingers in her moments ago. She could barely meet the eyes of people they passed, and she inwardly grimaced when Taris approached them, two females on his arm.